Hearth and Home
by MLaw
Summary: A young Illya Kuryakin must learn to face the hard times that lie ahead as the Germans invade Russia. A closer in-between look at some moments in the story "Beginnings." #2 in the Illya series


"_**And as he soberly and thoughtfully puffed at his old pipe, and as the Dutch clock ticked, and as the red fire gleamed, and as the Cricket chirped; that Genius of his Hearth and Home (for such the Cricket was) came out, in fairy shape, into the room, and summoned many forms of Home about him." ~ **_**The Cricket on the Hearth** **by ****Charles** **Dickens.**

**.**

He squatted low to the ground as only a limber child could, scratching away with a stick in the dirt and practicing his letters. There were no paper, pencils, or even chalk for that matter to use on a piece of slate, so the hardening ground had to do.

His Babushka was always after him to read and study, though he'd gone through all his father's books cover to cover many times over. Sometimes he felt bored with them, as his memory seemed to recall the words on each page even before he'd turn to the next one. He remembered many things, but written words seemed to come back to him easily.

Grandmother would play games with him, trying to trip him up, but she would never succeed and that made her very proud of blond grandson.

"You are the smart one," she'd say to him, running her fingers through his soft hair. "You must remember to use your intelligence to get by in life, Illuyshenska."

"But Dimitry, he is so much smarter than me," Illya protested.

"Your big brother is wise in the ways of the forest, but hand him a book and he looks at it like it is a rock. No child, you have a bright mind, sharp like a bear trap...it clamps down tight on everything you learn and won't let go. You remember it all, but you also have the wisdom to use what you have learned."

.

Illya continued scratching away in the dirt, now switching to solving a few mathematical problems. He smiled, thinking his Baba had been a little right about Dimitry as he could barely add two plus two, even though he could track anything through the woods practically blindfolded.

The ground was getting harder as the cold weather was approaching, and soon he'd have to up give practice. Perhaps, Illya thought, if he got a piece of charcoal from the fire and a flat piece of wood, he could continue to do his lessons inside when the snow began to fall.

He thought about going to look for something in the woodpile when a pair of shiny black boots stepped on the ground in front of him, ruining his writings in the dirt.

Illya slowly looked up; the late afternoon sun blinding him a bit as it silhouetted the tall figure standing there.

The boy lifted his hand to shade his eyes.

"_Hallo meine Kleine." _A voice emerged from the shadow, greeting him in German. "_Sind Ihr Vater und Brüder heute nach Hause_hello little one. Are your father and brothers home today?"_

"_Nein, Mein Vater ist tot und ich habe keine Brüder_no, my father is dead and I have no brothers." _Illya lied, replying German. "I am the oldest." He had a gift for languages and would often practice his German and French with his grandmother.

Her husband, the late Count Alexander Sergeivich Kuryakin having been an educated nobleman in attendance at the Romanov, court required his wife to speak with the visiting aristocracy in their native tongues. These languages she passed onto her grandson Illya, who had a sharp mind and learned quickly.

.

Illya answered the soldier as he'd been taught to by his father, if a Nazis appeared, asking questions. He would obey, never asking why. He knew better than to offer the truth to this man, as he'd seen neighbors...fathers, uncles and brothers found out and taken away by the soldiers, never to be seen again.

The soldier was impressed at a Russian boy speaking in fluent _Hochdeutsch_, especially for such a young one, and wondered if the dead father had been a German. He reached out, raising the boy's chin, examining his blue eyes and blond hair, thinking he'd be a candidate for the Lebensborn. He had the right facial features and already spoke the language beautifully, though he was a bit on the scrawny side, and with that long hair, he was almost girlish looking. Nothing that a proper haircut and some regular meals of Sauerbraten and Bratwurst wouldn't solve.

That thought made the German sigh, since at the moment ,he was eating mostly field rations, as they'd nearly cleaned the locals of their provisions. He longed for some good German food and not the slop these Russians would eat...turnips, cabbages, potatoes and only their black bread was palatable, but with the lack of grain, there wasn't much of that to be had.

"Oh so you are the eldest then, you must be very smart and clever." The man's voice oozed with pleasantness. "Come," he reached out, taking Illya's small hand. "Take a walk with me and you can tell me about your neighbors."

Illya tried pulling away, this time his small voice crying out in Russian as he was nearly eight years old and the man holding onto him frightened him. He was thinking because he'd said he was the oldest, that he too would be taken away, and gone forever.

"_Nyet, ya ne khochu idti s vami. Ostavʹte menya v pokoe_no, I do not want to go with you. Leave me alone!"_

Tanya Kuryakina rushed out the front door of the dacha with her white apron and long blond hair flying wild, as she leaped over the steps in a single bound to get to her son and pull him away from the German.

Illya saw the fear in his mothers wide eyes as he looked up at her face while she held him close to her.

"_Prikhodite Illuyshenka , pora na uzhin ... yesli vy izvinite , ser_come Illuyshenka, it is time for supper...if you will excuse us sir_," she said boldly.

By the look in the soldiers eyes, she knew he did not understand her, and having only a few words in German she used them fearlessly. "_Kinder-in-nen jetzt. Ess-en Sie Nah-rungs-mittel_child inside now. Eat food."_

Tanya held onto her Illya as she took two steps, backing away before she had the courage to turn away from the soldier, hurrying up the steps, and inside the house.

She slammed the door, locking it and prayed as she leaned her back against it, her chest heaving for breath.

Illya could feel his mother shaking as she knelt beside, wrapping his body in her arms and holding him tightly.

.

The German remained outside, snickering to himself as he turned and left the small yard; pleased at the fear he had seen in the woman's eyes. Fear was their greatest asset to keep these inferior beasts under control. Fear was what allowed some of them to be led off so easily, like mindless herds of sheep to the slaughter. Fear cleared the mind of all rational thought, not that these Russians were rational; they were nothing but inbred simpletons and not even worthy of being crushed beneath the boots of the Third Reich, as were so many others.

.

Tanya released her son and took took him by the shoulders, her hands gripping him tightly.

"What did he say to you?" She demanded.

"He asked for Papa and wanted to know if I had any older brothers?"

"_Bozhe moy_, what did you say?"

"What I was taught to say of course, Papa is dead and I have no brothers."

Tanya laughed at her sons matter of fact answer and she hugged him to her again.

"_Horosho my syn_good my son_. That was good, you keep doing a good job like that. I am very proud of you. But from now on I want you to stay out of the front yard, and only play in the back. Is that clear...promise me you will."

"_Da, obeshchayu._"

I think some hot tea as well as a slice of bread and jam would be nice right now, _da_?" She helped him slip off his shoes, after removing her own, as when walking into a Russian home, the very first thing to do was remove one's shoes. _Ulitse gryazʹ v dom ne neset___so that dirt from the street didn't spread through the house._

"_Da, pozhaluysta, Mama_." He grinned a half toothless smile at her as one of his front teeth had fallen out and the new tooth was just pushing through. "I would like that very much please," he said with a little lisp. "Might I have some extra jam please, just this once, please?"

Their supplies were running low, but just this once she would do it. "_Da, moy syn. Vy byli ochenʹ khrabrym segodnya, vy eto zasluzhili_yes my son. You were very brave today, you deserve it._

Illya wasn't quite sure what this was all about with the Germans, but he understood their presence was not good. Since their arrival Papa and Dimitry had disappeared into the forest at Bykivnia most of the time. All he knew was that he missed them and wished these Nazi people would just go away, so his father and brother could come home again.

That night the family gathered around the hearth to warm themselves. Mama sat darning several pair of very worn socks, while Babushka played a soft melody on Papas concertina. Soon it would be time for bed.

Illya sat on the floor with his young sister Katiya, making faces to amuse her. The twins, Misha and Sasha were in their large wicker basket, snuggled under a blanket while they happily cooed and gurgled.

The back door to the dacha suddenly creaked, making everyone freeze in a moment of panic. Illya grabbed the rifle from the corner, though it was still too big for him. But at the moment he was the man of the house and knew what he had to do.

"_My doma_we are home," _Nicholaí Kuryakin called out as he walked through door to the kitchen, followed by his auburn haired son Dimitry. They stopped, removing their muddy boots, placing them on a nearby mat.

There were hugs and kisses all around, and Nicholaí handed little carvings of forest animals to his youngest children.

"Here for you _volchok_, I carved you a wolf," he said to Illya. "And for you Katiya a doe."

The boy admired his gift and he liked that his father called him _wolfcub._

"_Spacibo Papa. Ya skuchal po tebe_ thank you Papa. I missed you."_

"And I missed you my Illuyshenka. I swear you have grown taller. I think it is time I take you out into the forest and teach you to hunt, would you like that?"

"Da Papa."

"Nicholaí, he is too young for stalking, and too little, he could barely lift that rifle you left us." Tanya protested.

"He needs to learn, hard times will be upon us soon, and the boy must become a man. Now enough such talk, I am chilled, is there any tea?"

The family gathered again in silence in front of the hearth; all with their steaming glasses of hot tea warming their hands.

A golden icon of the Madonna looked peacefully down upon them from the wall, and an old clock on the mantle ticked steadily, as Nicholaí lit his pipe, taking a long drag on it. The smell of the sweet tobacco mingled with that of the burning wood in the fireplace and a lone cricket chirped from somewhere in a corner, kept alive no doubt, from being indoors. It would sing it's lonely song before it finally faded and died.

Nicholaí planned the next day in his head as he and his sons would help ready the dacha ...fixing the roof and hanging the shutters to protect against the snows of a harsh Russian winter, and little Illya would have his hunting party with his father.

Illya smiled, as he looked at his Papa, Mama, Baba, Dimitry, Katiya, Misha and Sasha, happy they were all here.

Yet unknown to him, the family huddled together under a false sense of security in their little red dacha, cocooned for the moment in their love for each other, feeling they were safe in their hearth and home from the outside world of uncertainty and death.


End file.
